


I Know You In The Coming of Spring

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: Summer Whump Challenge 2020 [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Era, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Something was wrong with Jaskier.Geralt knew this with the same level of certainty that he knew it was going to rain — an energy in the air tugging at the clouds in the distance, promising a downpour — and he could see a slight hesitation when the bard walked, a tight note in his voice as he spoke, spaces between the words when he caught himself, tripping away in a different direction before anyone but Geralt would notice.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Series: Summer Whump Challenge 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861159
Comments: 16
Kudos: 195





	I Know You In The Coming of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Bruises

Geralt frowned, slowing Roach down to barely above a walk, turning to watch Jaskier closely. The snow still lay heavy in the gnarled roots of the trees, but warmer weather was sweeping over the land, tiny flowers unfurling through the thick green carpet. 

He could feel the exhaustion of the long dark months in Kaer Morhen slipping away with every mile travelled, finding Jaskier where he had left him — hair a little longer and tied in a silver bow, face still unlined and full of joy when he saw Geralt — allowing the knot of worry he carried for months to release. Eskel had kept asking after the bard, grin only growing when Lambert joined in the teasing, Geralt’s growls deepening until Vesemir threatened to separate them like they were nothing more than children once again.

Something was wrong with Jaskier. 

Geralt knew this with the same level of certainty that he knew it was going to rain — an energy in the air tugging at the clouds in the distance, promising a downpour — and he could see a slight hesitation when the bard walked, a tight note in his voice as he spoke, spaces between the words when he caught himself, tripping away in a different direction before anyone but Geralt would notice. 

Eskel’s words may have held a note of truth — not that Geralt would ever tell him that — when he said that Jaskier was the only person Geralt had shown an interest in for years. It wasn’t just an interest, the word seeming hollow when it came to Jaskier. Geralt was devoted to him, dedicated in a way he had never imagined possible before.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, taking a step closer to Roach — something in the way he walked nagged at Geralt’s mind, causing his stomach to twist with unease, hairs on the back of his neck prickling. 

“Did you spend all winter in that tavern waiting for me?” Geralt asked gruffly, biting back the other questions tightly behind his teeth. He’d apologised time and time again and yet he feared driving Jaskier away again, knowing he wouldn’t survive hurting his bard again.

“Geralt,” Jaskier laughed, placing a hand on his chest — the movement slightly stiffer than Geralt remembered, but the bite of winter still lingered in the air despite the golden sunlight that rained down on Jaskier, “I did not spend my entire winter playing to the same three men in that tiny tavern. I travelled back home, to Oxenfurt, and waited that awful season out there.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt grunted, studying Jaskier closely. Jaskier grinned, a spark alight in his grey eyes, fingers dancing over his lute. 

“It was horrendously dull,” Jaskier said, matching his words with a flutter of notes setting Geralt in mind of birds taking flight from the trees, a sense of escape filling him even as Jaskier stayed by his side.

“Let’s continue,” Geralt said, unable to shake the sense of unease settling deep in his stomach.

The thought continued to plague him as they travelled deeper into the forest, trees reaching clawed hands to the sky and threatening to pluck the moon from it’s cradle. Jaskier stumbled once, a bitten off hiss of pain greeting Geralt like a thunderclap, and he nudged Roach off the track towards a clearing.

He stayed silent, turning the difference he could see but couldn’t know around and around, worrying at it like a fresh wound as he set up the fire, warmth washing away the night’s chill as Jaskier’s voice rose and fell. Geralt was familiar with the bard’s process by now — the single minded focus around the same snatches of melody, hammering away at it until it was ‘right’ but indistinguishable to the thousand of other refrains to Geralt’s ear and yet beautiful in Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier yawned, a sudden break in the music as he stretched, and Geralt’s blood ran cold as he saw the purple bruises covering every inch of Jaskier’s exposed arms, a tableau of violence marked in the shape of handprints. 


End file.
